


Sweet Magnolia

by twined



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gabe is a Sweetie, also sex, fluffy fluff fluff, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twined/pseuds/twined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gabe returned from the dead with a bottle of whipped cream and a fresh pie, you had never imagined (although you may have hoped) that your bond would become this deep. Gabriel/Reader, written on tumblr request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Magnolia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for http://dirtysupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com/post/83236977047/source. "Imagine Gabriel telling you he loves you in the middle of sex." Title from Grateful Dead song of the same name.

You were hours deep in research when hot breath tickled your ear.

“Hi there.”

You screamed and lashed out on instinct, only to whack Gabriel the Archangel across the face with a gigantic tome of lycanthrope morphology. _When did my life become a mediocre TV show?_

“Gabe! You should know not to surprise me by now!” You put the book down, reaching to stroke his face where a bruise was healing itself nearly as soon as it had formed.

“How else would I know you care?” He waggled his eyebrows and you sighed, leaning back in the chair.

“Aren’t you, like, one of the big warriors of Heaven? After about a billion years you can’t dodge a book the size of your head?”

“Hey, if you were recently back from the dead, you’d be lollygagging, too.”

“It’s been like four months, I don’t think you can really use that excuse anymore.”

“But I missed out on _years,_ ” his whine dropped to a whisper and he leaned down for a kiss.

After a sweet moment, you pulled back. Damn that smile, it was impossible to stay mad at him.

Before the apocalypse, something had boiled between you two. Innocent touches burned and intense gazes passed unmentioned. After Lucifer killed Gabriel, you felt the ache of missed chances. Evidently, so had he, because almost as soon as he had returned he appeared in your kitchen bearing pie.

The whipped cream didn’t last the night.

“What brings you here?”

“My favorite human?”

You rolled your eyes, but he frowned and poked your stomach, which growled in response (traitor).

“When’s the last time you ate?”

You checked the clock and—“Damn. Guess I got caught up in research.” Now that he mentioned it, you were _starving._

“Perfect! I’ll cook.”

“Oh, no. Wait, wait, wait—”

Human kitchens were inadequate. When Gabriel cooked, he did it at home, and that meant being zapped to an inaccessible mountain cabin in Tibet. He touched you before you could draw back, and in a flutter of wings, you were across the world in the arms of an archangel (who had learned by now that you’d fall over mid-zap if he didn’t catch you, though neither of you ever brought it up).

You disentangled yourself. “Okay, give me something to chop.”

By now, he knew better than to try to stop you from helping. You rummaged through his knife drawer (“rummaged” being relative; he had every piece sorted by function and size in individual slots), and he started conjuring ingredients, throwing you some bell peppers.

“Julienne those for me?”

“On it.” You kiss his cheek, sliding around each other through the kitchen. He could boil water with a snap, or hell, just create food from nothing, but he preferred “real live human food” for some reason. Since he rarely had an excuse to cook, you’d been the recipient of many a 5-star meal in the past few months.

He was slicing up what looked to be chicken (you knew better than to assume) when something made him snort.

“What?”

“Just remembering a few millennia there where humanity only boiled things. That’s as much cooking as you could handle. But I was Loki, and they had to feed me…it was _awful._ Mush, everything mush.”

You shook your head, reminded that your lover was an immortal ex-god. Not that it was something he ever let you forget, with pockets that were somehow always full of candy and a complete lack of concern for privacy, but sometimes—he would get this distant look, and you were pretty sure he was remembering the landscape when it was formed by glaciers. Or a fight with his brothers that had pummeled a valley into existence. Perhaps the original goops that had crawled out of the ocean and grown legs.

You supposed it was just that Gabriel was so— _not_ angelic. Every other angel you’d ever known was a self-righteous dick. To be fair, Gabriel could be too, but his mischief and laughter and obsession with food set him apart from the Host.

He _adored_ humanity. He made more pop culture references than you could understand, enjoyed reality television, secretly funded several charities that you weren’t supposed to know about (angels weren’t allowed to contribute so directly, and he’d deny doing so anyway). He sometimes looked so fierce and sad and angry that you wanted to take up the sword against every creature who’d ever hurt him (and how silly was that, you avenging _him?)._ He got cross when he couldn’t figure something out and had an infuriating habit of rifling through your head. Gabriel could be so _human._

It was then, slicing a green pepper and humming, that you realized you were in love with the archangel. The knife stuttered—“Shit!”

“What is it?”

You were already turned away, running your bleeding hand beneath the sink—you’d nearly managed to chop a finger off. The litany of curses continued. _Stupid._

Resting his head on your shoulder, reaching his arms around your own and pulling your back into his chest, Gabe pulled your hand from the water and assessed the damage. He drew your hand up behind your ear, kissing the wound, and the pain subsided. Then, he wrapped his arms around you and just held you for a moment.

“Thanks.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and he looked back from his.

“But eef courze, mon ami.”

Another quiet moment’s indulgence, and he twirled you into a previously-nonexistent armchair.

“But maybe you should leave the cooking to the professionals. Just so we don’t get any unintended protein in the stir-fry.”

“Are you insulting my chopping abilities?”

“Moi? Never!”

You contemplated throwing something at him, but he _was_ cooking you dinner.

“So, tell me,” you started after a few minutes, “Chuck Norris or Sean Connery? In a battle to the death.”

“Psh. Connery. Grizzled, Raspy Scotsman trumps Grizzled, Raspy American. Plus Chuckie was never James Bond.”

“Maybe, but how much _real_ fighting can he do? Chuck Norris is, like, triple black-belt in some shit…”      

The banter continued throughout dinner, which blew your mind (as always). You talked about your current research, and his latest antics, and basically laughed until you were too stuffed to manage. Gabriel’s ability to make you forget about whatever-today’s-apocalypse-was always amazed you. It was much-needed relief.

The primal look he gave you as you licked a chocolate dessert off your spoon promised much-needed relief of a different kind. He snapped his fingers, and the dishes disappeared. “Real live human” cooking did not extend to clean-up, apparently. When you rose he met you, pulling you into a brief waltz before dipping you nearly to the ground and kissing you thoroughly. A rose appeared between his teeth, which made you giggle until he exaggerated dragging it down your neck. It disappeared when you shivered, and he gathered you up in his arms.

“Carrying me across the threshold?”

“I thought about throwing you over my shoulder, but it’d kill the mood if you threw up down my backside.”

“Fair point.”

The house had been built in many levels to accommodate the steep ground. You wouldn’t trust anyone else to carry you through the winding staircases down to the bedroom. He had zapped you both there before, in more heated moments, but this way you got to wonder at the expansive, exotic view outside his windows. If you could steal an angelic superpower, it wouldn’t be the immortality or time-travel or mind-reading or telekinesis or fighting abilities (although when you put it that way, it sounded damn unfair). What you’d take would be the ability to fly, to travel anywhere, anytime.

“You’ve got to take me to Rome someday.” _And Sydney and Buenos Aires and Johannesburg._

“Maybe tomorrow,” Gabriel whispered, and when you looked up at him from your contemplation, he kissed you deeply. He set you down and you gently tugged him into the bedroom.  

Gabriel happily let himself be led, stealing a kiss that tasted like ozone. You never knew what to expect from your angel; nothing happened the same way twice. Today his caress felt nearly reverent. He leaned in close, cupping your cheek. The sheer tenderness made you moan. As that soft noise, his grip tightened, slanting your mouth for deeper access. His tongue made you shiver. You weren’t sure who began the movement, but suddenly your knees hit the edge of the bed. Clothes slipped away. You fell and crawled backwards onto the pillows as Gabriel surveyed you like a fine Swiss chocolate bar.

When he followed you to the bed, licking a stripe up your stomach, you threw your head back in pleasure. He took the opportunity to lave at your neck.

“Look at me, beautiful.”

Given the fire in your belly that his hands were stoking, it was hard to stop gasping and open your eyes—but then you couldn’t look away from the rapture in his expression. He held your gaze as his mouth descended, tickling and sucking and nipping at your skin. When you squirmed, he shot you the crooked smirk that made you melt even more.

He’d mapped your body over many recent nights. Everything you liked, he teased into your most sensitive spots. Heat spread through you until every inch of skin felt electrified. When Gabriel finally got where you really needed him, you were dripping.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed against your core. He lapped you up and you felt the vibrations of his groan around your clit. This wasn’t a desperate, quick fuck, but somehow an overwhelming near-desperate sensation crackled through you.

“Need you, Gabe. Get up here.”

He chuckled, but with one last stroke of his tongue, complied. With one of his elbows braced over your head and one stroking your side, you felt completely sheltered. Warm and safe and surrounded with archangel. He tweaked at a nipple, suckling the other, and you ground your hips against him in impatience. Another smirk. Gabriel dipped into you, just the tip of his cock, but it felt hotter than anything you’d done before. He angled out again before sinking all the way to the hilt, both of you hissing with relief. Every one of your senses began and ended with Gabriel.

You curled your legs around him so that your ankles crossed at the small of his back, urging him deeper. He seemingly felt no need to speed up, despite your hands fisting in his hair and feet digging in, encouraging him to take you properly. Eventually you adjusted to his gentle rhythm, feeling as though he were claiming you in a deeper way, all the way to your soul. Against your neck, he murmured in Enochian.

“What is it?” you breathed. Gabriel looked at you and seemed almost… sheepish? Since when did the ex-trickster get shy?

“I said, I love you.”

The dizzy sensations he’d already been causing were suddenly too much to bear.

“Remember to breathe, sweetheart.”

You gasped.

“Hey, we can forget that ever happened—” he said, beginning to pull out of you, but you tightened your legs and arms and pussy forcefully, still staring at him in wonder.

“No, no. Gabe, I love you too.” You swung your hips up towards him. “Love you so much.”

His smile broke your heart with its earnest joy, but then his head fell to your neck as he gave in to the ferocious ecstasy building between you both. You moved no faster, but deep and hard, so you could both feel the slightest twitch. The familiar pressure began to build, and you gripped him close.

“Gabe, baby, need you, gonna come for you, fuck please Gabriel don’t stop—” you babbled incoherently. Finally, _finally,_ his control broke down completely. His thrusts became faster and more erratic, and the added friction made your vision explode.

Partway through your all-encompassing orgasm, you felt him spilling inside of you, and for the first time ever you experienced multiple climaxes back-to-back. You twisted into each other and rode out the incredible rush.

Minutes passed before he heaved himself off of you, pulling you in for cuddles (the messenger of God was big on cuddles). He kissed your forehead before drawing your eyes up to his.

“I meant it, you know,” he said, “I love you.”

“Love you too, dork.”

“Dork? Me?”

Somewhere in the ensuing tickle-attack, you got vertigo realizing just how much you really did love him, and that he miraculously loved you too. And if wrestling then grew a little sexier, a little needier, eventually a little sweatier, well—what’s wrong with that?


End file.
